


The Indistinguishable Shades Between Sanity and Kismesisitude

by thegreatgayjatsby



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Aftercare, Black cuddling is totes a thing, Blackrom, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Close to sober!Gamzee, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Cute babies blackcuddling, Gillplay, Literally just Gam and Eri chilling after pailing., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatgayjatsby/pseuds/thegreatgayjatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Pitchbrother,” He whispers against the thin, membranial shell of your earfin, and your gills furl outwards as you exhale.</i>
</p><p>You fear him, but that's okay, because honest to Gl'bgolyb, he owns you, and you love it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Indistinguishable Shades Between Sanity and Kismesisitude

**Author's Note:**

> I ship it and there's like no fanfiction for this ship so write it with me rp this help

“Pitchbrother,” He whispers against the thin, membranial shell of your earfin, and your gills furl outwards as you exhale.

An uncoordinated set of fingers curl into your no-longer perfectly sculpted hair, glued into place by sweat and just as disheveled as you feel. The very tips of his unfiled claws scratch against your scalp, drawing shivers up from the base of your spine. 

Chirring softly, deep in your throat, you drape your leg over his bony lap, his hips digging into your pliable flesh. He’s so malnourished, you muse, an effect of the sopor, probably. He doesn’t seem to notice your thoughts, his retreating bulge twitching lazily against your thigh.

He leans in and mouths over the base of one of your horns, his free hand travelling down to nick the edge of your jaw until a line of violet bubbles up beneath his claw. You shudder against him and sink your teeth into his shoulder, sucking up a indigo mark along the prominent line of his shoulder bone.

Gamzee makes a gentle noise, tugging your head back and fisting his hand in your hair to bare your neck. His mouth glides over the column of your throat, thumb pushing hard enough to be a little uncomfortable against your pulse-point.

You swallow, certain he can feel it, and he drags your head closer to him with a solid flex of his muscles. You make a little keening noise, high and weak, and he chuckles, the air rasping in his throat. 

Your gills flutter, and you feel his bulge retract fully the more awake he becomes, pulling out of his drug-induced-stupor. He’s dangerously close to sopor, and you falling all over his lap, feel a little nervous. 

He clearly doesn’t mind, thinkpan un-addled by hallucinogens, and he grinds the palm of his hand into the base of your skull. You look at him through half-lidded eyes, jaw slack, your lips parted. His index finger snakes between your plump, kiss-swollen lips, digging under your tongue and pricking against your sharp teeth.

Metallic indigo floods your tastebuds, and you purse your lips around his finger and suckle obediently. His grasp on your neck loosens, all of his digits going lax in and around you. You purr gently, thanking him softly before laving your tongue over his finger.

He kisses your neck and your smile, humming against his throat. His fingers work for a few more minutes, deepening to the knuckle before withdrawing, coated in a violet sheen of saliva. He tightens his grip around your waist, breathing out, “Motherfuck, fishbastard.” 

You tremble a little in his arms, curling up in his lap and completely giving yourself over to him and his unwarranted black affections. Not that you mind them, of course. Growling softly, he bites down on your lower lip, sucking it between his teeth.

“Motherfuck.” He repeats quietly, his hands gliding down your body, the pads of his fingers pressing under the operculum, causing a pit to tighten in your chest.

“Mm.” You mumble back, barely breathing, lips hardly moving. Of course you’re afraid of him, that’s what makes this quadrant of yours so potent.

His rasping chuckle fills you up just as surely as his hands cup your hips; firm and unrelenting and manipulating your very form to bend to his every will. He turns you, tilting you, until you’re laying belly-up over his knees, a very dangerous position for anything remotely fish-like. 

His hand strokes your abdomen, tracing the loose skin from where his bulge had pressed up against your inner walls so strongly a visible lump had formed the night previous. You exhale softly, and he slaps your stomach, laughing low and dark.

You close your eyes and submit, after all, it’s all you’ve ever really become accustomed to with Gamzee. You’ve become just as much his pailslut as he is your powerful kismesis. And you love it.


End file.
